


The Devil's Own

by FuryouMiko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-08 09:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12861786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryouMiko/pseuds/FuryouMiko
Summary: Harry Potter, along with his Guardian Angel Lash, is about to start his third year of magical schooling. After the Basilisk incident, Hogwarts is in danger of closing forever, and now an escaped mass murderer is on the loose. Fortunately, the Dementors of Azkaban are on his trail... A sequel to Silently Watches' Deal with a Devil.





	1. Prisoners, Perks and Pellings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling. The Dresden Files are property of Jim Butcher. Original story concept and books 1 and 2 belong to Silently Watches. For the events of those books, see his story A Deal with a Devil available on FF.net

### Chapter 1: Prisoners, Perks, and Pellings

  
On a storm-blasted island in the middle of the North Sea that appeared on no maps and had brought more than a few ships to grief as a result, two men were examining the high security wing of the infamous prison, Azkaban. Normally the domain of only prisoners and the soul-sucking demons known as Dementors, the Wardens would examine the whole prison at every fortnightly shift change by law.

“Nasty bit of business, that,” one of the men said as they approached the area nicknamed Black Section. “Two teachers killed, and one of them an experienced dark creature hunter.”

“Yeah, Smith’s all torn up about it. You know he was sweet on Sinistra? Never got the chance to tell her," Sis relief agreed, peering in at a ragged, hangdog looking man with a matted mess of oddly familiar black curls who was simply lying there staring at the ceiling.  

“What… happened?” He asked, slowly, turning his head to look at the Wardens.

“Basilisk at Hogwarts," The second told him with a shrug. “There’s talk of shutting down the school. Few of the students were badly hurt… some even died.”

The black-haired man flopped back to stare at the ceiling and waited for the guards to move on.

“Harry…” He whispered to himself, and closed his eyes against the tears.

Nearly a thousand miles away, Harry Potter sat up, eyes flying open to stare into the darkness. His heart was beating rapidly, and fear flooded his senses for a moment until he gathered himself enough to look around. The pale moonlight shone in through the open window, revealing a plainly decorated room with a desk and chair opposite the foot of his bed. A zippered pouch sat on the desk, along with a notebook and several small items of jewellery. The lace curtains billowed slightly in the southern French air as he remembered where he was.

After the traumatic end to his second year at Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter had fled England to spend some time recovering from the ordeal. For the past few weeks, he had been staying in the guest room at his Veela friend Aimee’s home in Toulon.

“What… the hell was that?” He whispered in English. A moment later, his closest friend and companion – for a long time, his _only_ friend and companion – appeared opposite him on the bed. Appearing as a blonde girl a year older than him with brilliant green eyes, the guardian angel Lash sat cross-legged in an elegant nightgown.

“It was a dream,” she told him seriously. “And yet… it was more than that.”

“It felt too real," He nodded. “Like I was standing right there…”

“I wonder,” Lash mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, before hopping off the bed to go stand by the window, subtly shifting to her adult form as she mentally slipped into teacher mode. “It’s possible. There is a magical art called oneiromancy. It would not be the first time I’ve encountered such a talent.”

“Oneiromancy?” Harry asked, mostly to prompt her. The dream was already fading from his mind as they usually did.

“The art of divination via dreams. For the most part it’s as shallow as any other. Most purported dream-readers are simply analysts with a penchant for the dramatic. Those with the gift for actual prophetic or far-seeing dreams are as rare as any other kind of Seer.”

“And you think I have this talent?” he asked. “I should have taken divination after all.”

“It is a possibility. I will teach you how to meditate and call the visions up, but it will not be a swift process. Done incorrectly and you will call up the memory of watching the vision instead of the vision itself, and with the reconstructive nature of human memory…”

“It will lose accuracy," Harry nodded in understanding. They’d had that talk several times. With the exception of unique individuals like the school librarian Madam Pince, and non-human entities such as Lash, humans rarely truly remembered events in detail, but instead recalled the general gist of events and filled in the details using imagination. This, among other reasons, was why eye witness testimonies were no longer admissible in mortal courts.

“Go back to sleep,” Lash told him. “I will view the vision and attempt to interpret it while you do so. Whoever this man is, if he were not important, you would not be having visions of him.”

“Right," Harry sighed, and lay back. He was asleep again in a shockingly short amount of time.

* * *

Amy Pelling was quite an ordinary girl. Fifteen years old, she had grey eyes and a playful smile. She lived on Ynys Enlli with her parents, who had a farm on the island and spoke mostly Welsh at home. She went to church every Sunday, went to school in Botwnnog every week day, spent time with her friends in Pwllheli and was very proud of her knee-length curtain of blonde hair. Ever since the start of the summer holidays, however, things had started to get a little weird, especially on the island. She’d heard strange noises at night, and once even been convinced she’d seen a woman flying on a broomstick on the mainland side. Now here she was, staring at the dead end at the back of a cave in the hill, one of the chickens in a cage and a knife in her other hand… and no idea how she’d gotten here in the middle of the night with no shoes on.

Amy Pelling ran for home as fast as she could, mentally composing a list of boys on the island she could claim to be seeing. There was no way she was admitting to her parents that she’d nearly been faerie led after decrying their superstitions so many times.

* * *

One afternoon at the end of June, Harry let a contented smile cross his face as he sat back on the sun lounger. Spending the summer in Toulon had definitely been the best plan he’d come up with since January, and it was definitely summer this far south.

“Your plan?” Lash asked, arching one eyebrow. The blonde was impossibly balancing on the balcony railing, stretched out in a strapless red bikini and sunglasses, of all things.

“Well, I did say I needed to find somewhere to relax,” he murmured in reply, tipping his lemonade to her in acknowledgement. It had been a month since the disastrous evacuation of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry and the end of his second year, and he had spent most of that time talking to Aimée and her mother.

Mostly her mother, at Lash’s suggestion. Lisette had been helpful in coming to terms with the results of the final battle, and he was finally starting to accept that he really had done everything he could to protect the people of the castle. It helped far more than Dumbledore’s assurances that he should not blame himself for failing to protect anyone when it was not his responsibility to do so in the first place.

“Albus Dumbledore is an old soldier,” Lash reminded him. “He has fought so that children do not have to, and watched those assurances fall by the wayside as attrition ground down the reserve of adults until he had no choice but to send children to fight anyway. Lisette, however, knows you are a warrior at heart. She has seen you risk your life for those you barely know. While many sins may perhaps be laid at Dumbledore’s feet, you cannot blame him for a blind spot such as this, Harry.”

“I don't," He shook his head. “I don't know what he was thinking last year, but I do think he was trying his best. Nobody could have predicted what happened if even you didn't see it coming," He gave her a wary smile.

“While I am knowledgeable, Harry, I am not omniscient. There were too many factors pointing towards a single perpetrator for even me to untangle that web,” Lash reminded him gently. He could tell that the compliment had pleased her, however. Their relationship was much more stable than it had been after the revelation of her origins… and perhaps more mature.

“Harry,” Aimée’s high, sweet voice drew his attention to where the adolescent Veela was standing by the door to the rest of the house. “Maman says that it's safe to go down to the beach now, if you were still wanting to go swimming.”

“Ah, yeah," He smiled back, and swallowed his drink. He had been looking forward to swimming since the idea had been raised two days ago, but with the fact he'd never swum in the sea before, she'd decided that they couldn't go without supervision.

Swimming was always a dicey proposition, especially for young Veela who had not yet perfected their control over their Allure. Even with the private beach attached to the colony, there was always the chance of some muggle or ignorant wizard wandering past the boundary or being swept up while sailing past, even ignoring the chance of rips dragging unsuspecting swimmers miles out to sea.

The beach itself was beautiful, even if Harry were able to drag his eyes away from the strangely magnetic pull of the small crowd of adult and teenage Veela playing on the beach.

“Ah. It seems you have finally noticed girls," Lash commented dryly. That was enough to break the mesmerised hold the sheer amount of attractive femininity had over his developing libido as he gave her a narrow-eyed glare. Her bikini had been augmented with a wide, floppy white hat and a towel slung over one arm.

Aimée ran ahead towards the water's edge, Lisette following at a more sedate pace. Harry grinned and ran after them, some hitherto unknown instinct driving him to race his young friend to the water's edge and prove his athletic ability… which turned out to be not quite enough to overtake the speedy Veela, who had a lot more practice running on sand than he did.

“Something to rectify," Lash noted as Harry skidded, foot going out from under him as he tried to stop and dumping him on his bottom in the surf. A beat later, all four of them started laughing. Lisette offered him a hand up, then he turned back to her daughter to make a joke about it only for the words to die in his treat as she started to gather her sundress up… he felt his face heat as he finally started to process that they would swim naked. He’d known it. He’d even come down here without a swimsuit in the knowledge that it would be expected. It was simply normal here.

His mouth went dry as his friend lifted her dress up, only to pause when she realised he was staring. She started to blush as well, and as if by mutual agreement, they both turned their backs on each other to pretend it had never happened.

“Oh, the British and their prudishness,” Lisette sighed, her voice thick with laughter.

“Oh, the trials of adolescence," Lash counter-quipped, even though Lisette couldn’t hear her. She earned herself another dirty look from Harry regardless. Fortunately, he was saved from further embarrassment by a bell going off in the back of his head that made him freeze up.

“Harry? What is wrong?” Lisette asked, no longer laughing. Aimée responded to the tone of alarm in her voice as if summoned, moving to within easy reach of her mother.

“It's alright. Someone is trying to get into my workshop," Harry replied. “Quite ardently. I had, uh…” he glanced at Aimée, and blushed again. “I should, uh, probably go and check it out.”

“Yes, it's fine. We understand. Perhaps next time, you will get to swim with us," Lisette said, relaxing.

“Right," He nodded back, and closed his eyes for a moment, running his thumb across the ring focus he wore. “See you soon. _Darbas_.”

* * *

“I don't care, you have no right to make such decisions. Sally-Anne will not be going to another of your death trap magical institutions. We will home school her, and that is that," Sally-Anne drifted back into awareness of the world as her mother's impassioned diatribe came to an end. It had been like this for months since she had seen those eyes through the Friar, frozen in a moment of medication-driven insomnia, she had remained mostly aware of the world despite her petrifaction, drifting in and out of mental flights of fancy. She didn't think anyone knew. From what she had heard, the adults all expected her to be completely unaware of the world beyond the supposedly unseeing glossiness of her petrified eyes.

“I see. I'm sorry to hear that," The ministry man’s voice did sound genuinely remorseful, which terrified her. It meant he was going to… “ _Stupefy_. _Obliviate_ ," He added, a moment later. “Madam Comile, if you would hold off on the mandrake draught until her magic has been bound, we can at least spare her that pain.”

“If only I could," The Healer replied. “The stasis effect of the petrification means we can't do anything to her until it's been removed. It's only a mercy that the mind is put to sleep by the effect. The few incidents of people who have been petrified while under the effects of pepper-up or something similar have ended in tragedy. Wizards have been driven mad by the isolation and fear.”

“Ah," The ministry man who had claimed to be a caseworker from the Division for Magical Education sighed regretfully. “What a mess. You know, I usually only have to do this once every three or four years, but the last two years, first with the Granger girl and then four or five others over the last year? It’s a bad time to be parent to a muggleborn. Well, best get it over with suppose.”

The Healer must have agreed, for a moment later she was leaning over Sally-Anne to apply the Mandrake to her dry lips. Feeling returned, sweeping through her as the potion infiltrated her body, restoring her to life from the inside out. When the others had been woken earlier that morning, they had been groggy. Confused.

There was a snapping sound, and Sally-Anne felt something give way inside her. Her wand. They had snapped her wand. Helplessly, the restorative not having restored her motor control yet, she felt the man from the DME lift her left hand and begin scratching away at the skin with a specialised cutting curse. The pain was incredible as he etched the ogham script through the skin and down into the bone. Sally-Anne screamed.

“Hush. Hush, it will all be over soon, and then you'll never have to think about scary magic and horrible monsters again," The Healer pinned her shoulders down to stop her bucking the man off. “Oscar, something's not right. She's not disoriented, her eyes are-”

Sally-Anne knew what her eyes were. Focused. She bought her legs up, getting one foot in under the DME man’s shoulder, and shoved him away. Flailing with her right hand, she desperately drew her magic. They might have snapped her wand and partially sealed her, but it was still there, still hers, and she had had months of nothing to do but make plans and listen to her friends when they visited.

“I'm sorry, too," She whispered, and pushed as her hand came into contact with the Healer’s chest, blasting her across the room as magic followed motion and intent. Sally-Anne swung herself out of the bed. Her parents lay where they had slumped in the uncomfortable looking visitor's chairs, but Sally-Anne knew it was too late for them. The man had already wiped their memories. Maybe just of magic. Maybe of her. She was magical after all. Had been all her life. Erasing her entirely would be close enough for government work, considering how detailed the work would have to be to remove every instance of accidental magic from her childhood.

Sally-Anne ran past them. Even though she'd been in bed for months, the same stasis that had prevented her eyes from drying out had prevented her muscles from atrophy, and she had been practicing running since her encounter with the slavers.

Running helped her think, and right now there was only one place she could think to run.


	2. Sally-Anne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling. The Dresden Files are property of Jim Butcher. Original story concept and books 1 and 2 belong to SilentlyWatches. For the events of those books, see his story A Deal with a Devil available on fanfiction.net at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11188292/1/Deal-with-a-Devil

### Chapter 2: Sally-Anne

Harry drew his thorn wand as he appeared at the edge of the tree line that protected his shed from view. No sense ghosting into arm’s reach of whoever was trying to break into his home away from home. Still, whatever he expected was not what he found.

A familiar head of blonde hair atop a small, feminine frame nearly drowned by the full-size man’s shirt she was wearing. Hair, girl, and shirt were all filthy, and her feet were jammed into a pair of too-small sandals. Sally-Anne was slumped where his blasting ward had knocked her to the ground, and the soft sound of sniffles was just about reaching him.

“Her left wrist. Look," Lash cautioned him as he was about to run towards her. He squinted, and the Fallen helpfully highlighted what she had picked out. A series of swirly, dark scabs around her wrist. “Someone has attempted to bind her magic.”

“Just like Granger,” he murmured. “But she obviously still remembers, and other side is unmarked. She’s in trouble.”

“She is, but one has to wonder why she is here. She should be happily reunited with her parents and discussing her options for schooling in September. Given her past history, the chances of her accepting Obliviation and binding as Granger did are effectively zero," Lash pointed out. “It is possible that this is a trap.”

“I’m not sensing anyone else within range of the wards. No magic other than ours," Harry replied a moment later. “I can’t just leave her there, Lash," He didn't wait for a reply, crossing the clearing to where his friend was crumpled on the floor and knelt at her side.

“Sally-Anne?” he asked, quietly, reaching out towards her shoulder, although he stopped before actually touching her.

“Harry?” She looked up at him, eyes wide and slightly unfocused. 

“I’m here," He whispered, slipping an arm under her shoulders to lift her to her feet. “What happened to you?” He helped her limp into to the shed.

“From the smell and level of grime, I’d say she’s been living rough for a few days,” Lash relayed quietly. “Without further medical treatment. Get her settled before asking anything.”

“Its… I remember, Harry. I still remember. I’m still me,” Sally-Anne babbled quietly, before looking at him and gasping softly. There was a slight sheen across her eyes, like a cat’s eye caught in the light. A moment later, she slumped a little, squinting. “Beautiful…”

“Er, Sally-Anne?” he asked in confusion as he lowered her into his scavenged desk chair.

“I did something to my eyes,” She said, a little hysterically. “Your cousin said you were out here, but I couldn’t find it until I thought, maybe you hid it with magic, only they snapped my wand so I…”

Harry gave Lash a helpless look. At the angel’s direction, he gently hugged the crying girl, kneeling next to her and rubbing her back in little circles. She immediately latched onto his shoulders in a crushing, desperate hug.

“It's ok,” He told her quietly. “You don’t need a wand to do magic, and we can get you a new one for the complicated stuff. We can figure out what they did to your hand and get you back on your feet.”

“All… alright. If you think that’s best,” Sally-Anne whispered. “I don’t know what to do. They… they got my parents.”

“It's ok, Sally-Anne. We’ll figure out what to do. Maybe we can restore them. Whatever happens, I’m not going to abandon you. I promise. Okay?”

“I trust you," Sally-Anne replied softly, her grip loosening a little.

“I’m going to let go now, ok? I’m not going anywhere, just across the room to put the kettle on," Harry kept talking softly as he pulled away, and Sally-Anne let him go reluctantly.

“O-ok," She whispered, although she didn’t take her eyes off him as he prepared tea for the two of them in silence. Only when his blonde friend was holding a chipped white mug in both hands did he speak again.

“So. Start from the beginning. The last we knew, you were being taken to St Mungo’s during the evacuation.” 

She did not speak immediately, instead playing with her mug for a long moment. “Is it true that you’re the one who killed the basilisk?”

“Ah… no, not exactly…” he said with a sheepish chuckle. “The Heir turned out to be a diary that was possessing first-years. Is that the story that’s going around now?”

“The nurses mentioned it… they thought I couldn’t hear them,” Sally-Anne whispered. “It was supposed to put me into a coma as well as freezing my body, but I was awake the whole time.”

“Locked-in syndrome," Lash put in helpfully. “To have survived with as much sanity intact as she has speaks of a great deal of inner fortitude.”

“So what happened?” Harry asked. “I know they were preparing Mandrakes, but that’s the last we heard about what was going on.”

“My parents wanted to withdraw me from the school so I could be homeschooled. He didn’t even explain what it would mean, he just pulled out his wand and Obl… Obliviated them," She stammered the word out, her face twisting into a mix of rage and fear as she forced it out. “The Healer said I would have to be woken up before he could bind my magic, so…” She turned her hand to show him the scabs on her wrist. “I escaped. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go, but I had your address, and…”

He nodded. “I did say you should come visit. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you first arrived. After the battle… I’ve been spending a lot of time with some friends in France. They’ve been helping me deal with what happened," He fell silent, staring into his tea.

“I…” Sally-Anne was quiet for a few minutes before continuing. “I don’t know what to do now. W-what can we do?”

“Well…” Harry bit his lip, glancing at Lash. She gave him an encouraging smile, so he continued slowly. “You have a couple of choices, I guess. Letting them finish might not be the worst option. You would just go back to being a muggle. But that sounds like a terrible idea. If we can restore your parents’ memories, you could continue as you were. Go back to school, wherever they send us. If they knew the alternative was forgetting, they might change their minds. If we can’t restore them, then… There has to be something else we can do.”

“Can’t… can’t I just stay here?” Sally-Anne asked.

“It’s not really feasible, Sally-Anne…” He replied softly. “We don’t have plumbing, no real kitchen. I could ask my friends in France, but… Well, they’re not human. But,” He took a moment to think. “I could ask Madam Pince for help. She probably knows half the laws in the country.”

“The scary librarian?” Sally-Anne asked in an uncertain voice.

“Yes. She was really helpful when I was investigating Lockhart," Harry nodded. “And she stood up for me when Dobby… well, when I was researching the thing that attacked you. She has an eidetic memory. Are you alright with me asking her about it?”

“S-she won’t tell anyone else?” She bit her lip, then nodded. “Thank you… Susan would have to tell her aunty, and Hannah just lives too far away…”

“Alright. I’ll send her a letter with everything in it," Harry nodded, reaching over to grab a scroll and fountain pen, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he wrote. He frowned slightly as he noticed that she kept rubbing at her eyes and temples.

“When was the last time you slept?” He asked as he rolled the scroll up.

“I… I kipped for a few hours in the Woolworths porch…” She replied. “But I didn’t want to risk anything…”

“Alright. I’m going to have to ghost over to Diagon to post this, so you should take a nap… ah… hm," He paused thoughtfully. “I’ll take you to my uncle’s house. You look like you could use a shower, and Aunt Petunia shouldn’t object too much," He offered her his hand and helped her to her feet, stifling a sigh as she refused to let go of his hand.

“I do not think that you appreciate the enormity of what you are considering, Harry," Lash said, manifesting on his other side in a white pantsuit. “Taking responsibility for her is far beyond your means even with Voldemort’s blood money.”

He shook his head slightly, and not for the first time wished he could communicate with her without speaking aloud. When they reached the house, he realised that the car was missing and the back door was locked. The Dursleys had gone out.

“ _Bats’vel_ ," He murmured, passing his free hand over the lock as it clicked. Sally-Anne gasped slightly behind him.

“You can still do it,” She whispered, drawing a confused look from Harry. “The wandless magic. Susan said… what you did before was shaped accidental magic and it would just… it wasn’t precise enough to replace proper spells…”

“Well… no…” Harry gave her a sheepish smile. “I’ll explain about it later," He led her up to the bathroom. “Take a shower. When you’re done, just go lie down in there,” He pointed her to the second bedroom. “I should be back before you’re done though,” He slipped free of her hand to retrieve a couple of fluffy white towels and hung them up on the rail.

“Th- thanks, Harry," Sally-Anne bit her lip, fingers still curled at her side as though clutching his hand. She thought about asking him to stay, to wait to post the letter, but the words stuck in her throat. Again. She nodded instead.

“Alright," He smiled, and then vanished into thin air right in front of her eyes.

* * *

“Harry, I honestly believe you may have finally snapped,” Lash told him as they returned to the house an hour later.

“Aren’t you supposed to support my decisions?” He asked back, archly. “The last thing I want is to slip up in front of her. Especially given that she probably still remembers me having a whole conversation with you back then, and… well… I need an explanation for how I learned my magic,” His words became more awkward the longer he spoke, until Lash sighed and gave him a hug.

“If you feel you must. I fear that she will take it badly, given her anxiety and the true source of her attacker last year,” Lash told him, “but I had not realised just how heavy this burden of knowledge had become for you. You must handle this very carefully, however, if you do not wish to drive her away. In fact, it may be best if you introduce me as something other than what I am… a spirit of air and knowledge perhaps…”

“No," He shook his head. “No lies between friends. Not after what that plan nearly cost us, oh Guardian," He pushed the back door open and left his shoes by it, putting one of the bags he carried aside then climbing the stairs on stocking feet. The bathroom door opened just as he reached the top, revealing a scrubbed-pink Sally-Anne wrapped in a towel, clean blonde hair sweeping her shoulders unevenly before tumbling halfway down her back. She paused at the sight of him, blinking, then blushed slightly.

“Ah…” She hesitated. “Hey?”

“H-hey yourself,” He replied, heat rushing to his own cheeks, before offering her the M&S bag he was holding. “I picked you up some pajamas to wear on the way back. J-just until I can get some of your stuff," He explained quickly. One hand holding her towel in place, the blonde took the bag from him with the other, then nodded, squinting down at it. “I’ll, uh… be with you in a moment," He added, looking away as she nodded and took the bag into his bedroom.

“Oh, Harry. Never change," Lash joked. “Although I am worried…” She added, walking down the stairs backwards as he went back to the kitchen. He rolled his eyes at the sight of her showing off, and she smiled as he apparently once again played into her ploy. “She was not so short-sighted last year. I fear she has done something permanent to her eyes with her improvised magic.”

“Short-sighted?” Harry asked, moving to plate up the fish and chips he’d bought. “The squinting," He realised. “She said she did something to see my shed… but she’s magical, she should have been able to just…” He paused, considering. “The incomplete binding," He murmured. “It’s on her left wrist, the side that takes in energy. It must have messed with her ability to perceive magic.”

“Using magic to repair the structures of the eye is inadvisable due to the high probability of unintended consequences," Lash confirmed, her voice taking on the lecturing tone she always had when quoting something she had read. “That’s why wizards still require spectacles.”

A quick glance over revealed his friend to be adjusting a pair of glasses while wearing what appeared to be a stylised scholar’s gown, drawing a laugh from his lips. 

“Ah, Harry?” Salle-Anne’s hesitant voice brought him back down to the ground. He looked at her, standing in the doorway to the rest of the house in the navy-blue boys’ pajamas he’d bought her. For some reason, despite his original intent, he had frozen up at the idea of going into the girls’ clothing section, much to Lash’s amusement.

“Feel a bit better?” He asked, instead of commenting on just how attractive he found the sight.

“Yes, thank you," Sally-Anne replied, softly. She bit her lip. “I… th.. y… I…” she stammered, trying to make the words come out.

“I’ll explain in a moment," He told her with a smile, then gestured to the kitchen table. “Hop up and let me have a look at your wrist so we can make sure it’s not infected, then you can eat something, ok?”

Sally-Anne nodded, mutely, and obeyed. He gently rolled her sleeve back to examine the marks on her wrist, now clear of the scabs. Fortunately, they appeared to be healing neatly.

“I don’t know if we can do anything about them," Lash said, softly. “Her magic may be crippled until we can find a counter-curse. What do you notice about the residual magic in them?”

“It’s echoey, like that crucio curse…” He muttered with a frown. “Trimble’s book said that was a sign of dark magic. I guess anything designed to leave permanent scarring would have to be along those lines…”

“H-Harry?” Sally-Anne asked.

“Oh, sorry, Sally-Anne," He looked up at her and let go of her hand. The blonde took it back, rubbing the scars gently. “I don’t think we can do anything about the binding just yet, but I asked Madam Pince about it, so she might be able to tell us more. Otherwise, I… have some ideas. I won’t let them take your memories.”

“Thank you…” She whispered, looking at him almost worshipfully. He looked away, blushing, and pushed the plate towards her.

“Eat…” He mumbled, taking a minute to centre himself as she did so. Sitting opposite her, he picked at his own portion for a moment. “So… yes. I talk to myself. Or rather, ah…”

“You talk to her," Sally-Anne said, catching both Harry and Lash completely off guard. “She’s pretty, but so sad... she loves you.” 

“She can see me?” Lash asked, hollowly. “But… how? I don’t exist outside your mind…”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, instead.

“Wh… who is she, Harry? Is she why you can do wandless magic?”

“Yes," He replied. “Her name is Lash, and she’s my guardian angel. A Fallen, working to earn her way back into heaven," He explained in a rush. “She’s been with me since I was nine, teaching me. Looking after me.”

“A… repentant demon?” Sally-Anne asked, swallowing past her suddenly dry mouth. “Looking after you? But… no, back then… you said… your family used to lock you in a cupboard… is that why..?”

“Neither of us know exactly why I, of all people, deserve the attention of a guardian angel," He shook his head. “But she was my first and greatest friend, and my mentor besides," He hesitated. “Sally-Anne… you can’t tell anyone about this. A few of the adults know I have a tutor, but if they find out her nature, especially after last year, they’ll try and take her away.”

“I understand," She replied. “I won’t tell anyone. Can… can I meet her? Your friends… are my friends. I hope.”

“Um…” Harry hesitated, looking at Lash.

“I can speak to her if you give me control, but it may be disturbing," Lash replied. “I do not think it is a good idea.”

“What do you mean by disturbing?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“You haven’t noticed because you’re always on the inside, but when I take control, my eyes appear on your forehead and glow," Lash smirked a bit. “Not the most reassuring of sights.”

“No…” Harry shuddered slightly, then looked back to an increasingly worried Sally-Anne. “Apparently yes, you can meet her, but it’ll be freaky because of the eye thing.”

“Eye… eye thing?” Sally-Anne’s much abused lip suffered yet more damage as she considered. She opened her mouth to ask to meet Lash, but the words got stuck again, her throat closing up against them.

“It’s alright," Harry murmured, reaching over to take her hand. She looked up at him, startled, and let him pull it across the table once she’s gotten over her initial flinch.

“Wh… what are you doing?” She asked, quietly, as he started to stroke the back of her hand in circles and lines. It had an oddly calming effect, as if he were forcing the tension in her arm to release.

“It’s a light massage technique," Harry replied, his voice softer and lighter than usual, keeping his face turned down so his hair hid his brow completely. “I am teaching him so that he can help you.”

“Teaching..?” Sally-Anne squeaked, then looked down. “Oh... oh! It’s… It’s nice to meet you, Professor L-Lash.”

“Just Lash," Lash replied with Harry’s lips. “Thank you for being Harry’s friend. He needs people like you so that he doesn’t lose touch with the mortal world.” As they spoke, they turned Sally-Anne’s hand over to do the same to the palm. “I will answer the question that burns inside you, Sally-Anne, if you answer one of my own.”

“A- a question?” Sally-Anne bit her lip, free hand going to rub at her temple. “Al..alright. If Harry trusts you, so- so will I.”

“Tell me about what you have done to your eyes," Lash commanded. This was not what she had been expecting, and Sally-Anne glanced up at her, wide-eyed, then squeaked as she saw the glowing green shapes above Harry’s eyes.

“I…” Sally-Anne swallowed, staring into those false irises. “I couldn’t find the shed, but-but it felt like one of those muggle-repelling wards we were taught about. I thought that... May-maybe the binding had worked, and my magic was gone, but I could still feel something… so-so I pushed it into my eyes, trying to for-force myself to see-see what was really there… and then… then I could. I could... Could see the path to the shed, and-and the castle around it, and the… the alarm tower… th-then when you appeared, I could see… see you," She stopped to breathe, realising that her words had run away with her again, and brought her other hand up to clasp Harry-Lash’s, stilling them. “It’s beautiful. You’re both so strong… even… even though you’re bleeding so much… and.. And it's because you have each other… because… because you wrap his wounds with silk… and he fits into… the miss-missing parts of you. But I can’t… I can’t switch it off.”

“It seems like you have unlocked a form of Wizard’s Sight," Lash murmured, not noticing how she squeezed Sally-Anne’s hand in return. “To answer your question, yes. I will teach you. But the lessons will be hard. You will have to let go much of your previous knowledge. And you will have to trust me implicitly, because I do not live in your head, and that means that we will need to use psychomancy to show you the difference between the wanded magic you have learned, and the evocation I have taught Harry.”

Harry flinched as Lash finished speaking, and the eyes vanished, the firm yet gentle grip on her hands turning rough and uncertain.

“Psychomancy? Lash, what if it… what if we hurt her?” He asked, looking around until he found her avatar, sitting startled on the table. He had pushed her out rather roughly and she had not expected it.

“H-Harry?” Sally-Anne asked, cautiously.

“Yes," He nodded back, giving her a tired smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You won’t hurt her," Lash shook her head. “As you will not be making changes to her personality or permanently altering any part of her mind, the risks of this kind of psychomancy are negligible. I have effectively been doing the same to you since we met. The only difference is that we will use your magic to form a bridge between your mind and hers.”

“Alright," Harry relaxed a little. “We should do that as soon as possible before you see… something you rather wouldn’t," He said to Sally-Anne, blushing slightly at the memory of being called beautiful.

“Damn hormones," Lash quipped, to his confusion.


	3. Mrs. Perks

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling. The Dresden Files are property of Jim Butcher. Original story concept and books 1 and 2 belong to SilentlyWatches. For the events of those books, see his story A Deal with a Devil available on fanfiction.net at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11188292/1/Deal-with-a-Devil

* * *

**Chapter 3: Mrs. Perks**

Over the next couple of days they settled into a routine. With the Dursleys still away visiting Aunt Marge, Harry and Sally-Anne spent most of their time in the shed, returning to Privet Drive for meals while they worked on teaching the blonde magic, Lash-style. Irma Pince’s reply told them to sit tight and stay under cover while she looked into matters; apparently she was having a difficult time of it herself, between dealing with the Aurors and other ministry officials who were tearing the castle apart looking for further dangers and packing up some of the library. On the third day, Harry ghosted to Sally-Anne’s house to retrieve some of her belongings. He appeared just up the road, tucked into an alleyway, and knocked a bin over.

“Harry, the cloak," Lash ordered in a rush, prompting him to pull his father’s invisibility cloak around his shoulders and over his head, just in time as a man wearing a policeman’s uniform from the nineteen thirties peered into the alleyway suspiciously.

“ _Nvachel,_ ” Harry subvocalized, skipping across the man’s thoughts with as light a touch as he could manage.  He was a Patrolman from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was there to watch for Sally-Anne attempting to return to her home. She was wanted for assault and conspiring to break the International Statute of Secrecy.

“Must have been a cat or something," The Patrolman muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and stomping down the alleyway to double check. Harry pressed himself against the wall to make sure the man didn’t bump him, then darted out into the street behind him. Fortunately, there weren’t many people wandering around the pleasant suburb at ten in the morning and he managed to make it all the way up the road to number eleven without being noticed or tripped over. There were no cars in the driveway, but he could see a middle-aged woman with Sally’s dishwater blonde hair through the window. She was huddling at one end of the sofa with a photo album. The mantelpiece had been cleared recently, and now held a single, recent photograph of a nervously smiling Sally-Anne wearing a muggle school uniform he didn’t recognise.

“That is not good," Lash murmured. “We should be circumspect but check the woman’s surface thoughts to make certain.”

Harry nodded and let himself in, setting the door to without letting it close properly. Still under the cloak, he slipped into the front room and then into Mrs. Perks’ mind only to recoil at the wave of grief that rolled towards him. Whatever story the magicals had given Sally-Anne’s parents, they believed her to be dead now. He respectfully withdrew and headed up to the room Sally-Anne had directed him to. The obliviators who had cleaned it up had done a fair job of it. A slightly suspicious Alice Cooper poster shared wall space with a Holyhead Harpies team shot that had been transfigured to look like a rugby team and an En Vogue poster. The incongruity made Harry’s eyes water until he fed a little more power to his anklet and Alice Cooper turned into the Weird Sisters.

Harry quickly took the posters down and rolled them up, slipping them into his magic bag before moving to the wardrobes. Sally-Anne’s plush terrier followed them, and then her clothes too quickly to acknowledge. Her school things had been replaced with a handful of painfully forged notebooks, naturally, and there was unfortunately no way he could retrieve her trunk.

A last look around told him that he’d grabbed everything important, and a moment later he pressed his thumb to his ghosting ring and took himself back to Privet Drive, by way of a short walk in Leeds.

Madame Pince’s second letter found him on the way from Privet Drive to the shed. He opened it to read on the way.

_Mr. Potter,_

_Things are improving here at the castle. I managed to investigate a little for you. Your friend is in trouble, but from what you’ve told me it should be a simple matter to clear up. If I remember, your friend was on good terms with Susan Bones. Her aunt will be sympathetic to her circumstances, which means that the situation is not as dire as it could be. Sally-Anne’s case is set to be heard before a magistrate on the fifteenth, whether she is present or not. If she’s found guilty, precedent says that the binding on her magic be completed and she be placed in Approved Premises until she can be reintegrated with society when she is old enough, but Amelia might be able to mitigate things if she testifies that there was misconduct on the part of Oscar Thorpe, the caseworker responsible for her obliviation. There is no way to remove the binding, but depending on how complete it is it may be possible to adapt it – if you send me a copy of the sigils used I will consult with Professor Babbling on what we can do._

_Sincerely,_

_Irma Pince_

“So we need to talk to Susan Bones," Lash decided as they entered the woods. “Her aunt would almost certainly have the clout to take her in, and Susan would be very upset to learn that her friend was under threat of losing her magic over a minor incident of racism, especially one where she was the victim.”

“Um… racism?” Harry asked, as they approached the shed.

“What else would you call it when one group, in a position of power, oppresses a second, yet more numerous group, based on the lack of a single ethnic trait?”

“That trait being magic?” Harry guessed. “You’re saying what happened to Sally-Anne is because the caseworker was contemptuous of muggles?”

“Effectively, yes. Anyone who respected their ability to make decisions would have informed them that removing Sally-Anne from magical education would result in their memories being wiped, if only to persuade them to reverse their decision. Instead, and I suspect this is what happened to Miss Granger as well, her parents made the decision in ignorance and now their daughter is worse off for it.”

“I’m not sure how worse off she is for not being trampled by trolls," Harry noted as they entered the workshop. Sally-Anne was hunched over the hand lathe, turning a blackthorn rod.

“Just because Granger does not have magic to protect herself does not mean that trolls are not real," Lash reminded him. “Although living in a muggle district comes with its own protections.”

“I suppose," Harry murmured, so as not to disrupt Sally-Anne’s concentration. “Well, we still don’t know how to undo the binding or restore her memories, so it’s a moot point in either case.”

“Ah…” Sally-Anne huffed out as she sat up. “The rod’s done, I just have to etch the runes and attune it. That’s half the work down," She lied to herself, rubbing at her head before looking at Harry. “How did it go?” She asked, before slumping slightly at the grim look on his face.

“I got your things," He replied, softly. “But it’s as bad as we feared. I need you to write a letter to Susan asking for her aunt’s help to get things cleared up. Lash says she’ll help you write it. The short of it is, the obliviator filed a report against you and you need legal representation," he sighed.

“And… and my parents?” She asked, tremulously.

“I’m sorry," He whispered.

“Are they okay?” Sally-Anne asked, quietly, rubbing at her eyes with the back of the hand with the chisel in it.

“They’re fine, just… mourning. The obliviators took the easiest route and just… I’m sorry," He mumbled, unable to finish the sentence.

“Wizards. Purebloods. They really hate us, don’t they?” Sally-Anne asked. She put the chisel down carefully.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, warily.

“Just… erasing people's’ memories as the easy way out. Not even explaining what they’re going to do or why. Just disposing of us, like pests," Her voice was tight, her eyes constricted.

“I don’t think it’s hate," He sighed, moving forwards to hug her gently. “They’re just… wrong. People who grew up in the wizarding world? They’ve been taught all their lives that normal people are a threat. Stupid and lesser, but dangerous. But it’s not their fault that they’re wrong about us. We’ll just have to change their minds somehow, I guess?”

“... You’re too- too optimistic,” Sally-Anne stammered quietly, but she stopped shaking and hugged him back.

“I rather agree with her," Lash admitted. “You won’t change centuries of ingrained racism with a few happy speeches and laws.”

“I know," He sighed, softly, to both of them. “Well. Before we get into any of that… we actually have to do something this afternoon, now you can make yourself presentable.”

“We do?” She blinked at him. She was wearing an old nightie of Petunia’s that rather swamped her.

“We do," He nodded. “We’re going to get your eyes tested, since Lash says it's too dangerous to try and repair them magically.”

“... I always thought I’d look good in glasses…” She mumbled, bravely.

“That’s the spirit," Lash smirked. “Face your inner demons.”

“I put your stuff in my room," He told her, ignoring his angel’s sarcasm. “Put on some proper clothes and I’ll ghost us over to Toulon… that way we can avoid any legal issues.”

“Um… Ha-harry, I don’t… speak French…” Sally-Anne pointed out.

“That’s alright. I’m fluent," He smiled back. “I wonder if there’s a translation potion or charm, though…” He mused, thoughtfully.

“A question for later," Lash noted. “Escort your lady back to the house and let us be away.”

“Lash is getting impatient," Harry grinned, sheepishly. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Two weeks later, Sally-Anne was safely installed at Susan’s place, her name cleared and the obliviator had been written up. She had even picked a language for her evocation – Welsh – which made Lash giggle like a madwoman when Harry received his Hogwarts letter at the end of the month.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first as usual. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock._

_Due to ongoing maintenance work at Hogwarts castle, for the duration of this school year Hogwarts classes will be held on campus at the former Caer y Bardd._

_A list of books for next year is enclosed with your summer assignments._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor M. McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

“Caer y Bardd?” Harry asked, looking up at Lash.

“Bardfort, in Welsh. Most likely situated on Bardsey Island… Ynnys Enlli," Lash translated. “A legendary burial ground for heroes… King Arthur was buried there, among others," She paused. “Also the site of the College of the Bards four hundred years ago, a rival school to Hogwarts that failed under mysterious circumstances.”

“And they’re moving the Hogwarts classes _there_ for a year? Why not a regular school? One that doesn’t have a mysterious history?” Harry asked with a huff.

“I suspect that would defeat the point of maintaining a boarding facility," Lash replied. “That being the erasure of non-magical socialisation and indoctrination in the ways of the wizarding world.”

“I don’t particularly want to go back," Harry admitted, quietly. “Will Caer y Bardd even have the same kind of library?”

“I do not know," Lash admitted. “But there is a good chance it will have a selection of the Hogwarts books. Madam Pince did note in her letter that she was boxing up a lot of the books.”

“I suppose. Besides, I guess I should be there so we can keep an eye on Sally-Anne and the others at least.”

“There is that," Lash smiled. “I’m glad to see you valuing their friendship.”

“I could take or leave their world,” Harry admitted, “but I think, especially after this summer, giving up on my friends would be almost as bad as giving up on magic.”


	4. An Essay on Historical Revisionism

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling. The Dresden Files are property of Jim Butcher. Original story concept and books 1 and 2 belong to Silently Watches. For the events of those books, see his story A Deal with a Devil available on fanfiction.net at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11188292/1/Deal-with-a-Devil

* * *

 

### Chapter 4: An Essay on Historical Revisionism

“Witch burnings?” Lash asked, sardonically. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

With Harry’s letter had, belatedly, come notice of his summer homework. With school letting out a full month early the previous year due to the evacuation, nobody had had time to set it before then. The Dursleys had gone to visit Vernon’s sister, and so Harry was once more in Toulon.

“Is the great Lash stumped again?” Harry couldn’t help but needle his fallen angel. She tended to take it rather personally when her knowledge of the world didn’t quite match up to how _this_ reality operated.

“No, I just… Burning was in no way the most popular method of execution, even if you ignore the lengthy interrogations that were pursued before that stage. While the popular image is of a rabid mob dragging some poor woman out of her house and throwing her on a pyre, the witch hunts were generally much more methodical than that," Lash explained, shaking her head in exasperation.

“Hmm…” Harry looked at the page on Wendelin the Weird in _A History of Magic_ , thoughtfully.

“Most of the witches tried were actually men, for a start," Lash began. “And the interrogations would involve…” She paused, looking at her ward. “Well, you can read it on your own time. Suffice to say, very few genuines wizards would be able to cast any spells once they had been tried. Even those incredibly rare few found innocent of witchcraft were rarely in any position to return to work afterwards. There was no NHS to put them back together again afterwards, after all. Besides, most of those executed were hanged or crushed before being cremated.”

“So really, an essay on the pointlessness of witch burnings…” Harry mused. Lash remained quiet to let him finish. “Is really just a way to prop up the wizarding sense of superiority?”

“Exactly," She nodded. “As there are plenty of other examples of why muggles are to be feared. The statue of secrecy was introduced right at the end of the witch hunts as well, which implies that it was a defensive measure… and one that was at least partially successful.”

“I think I’m going to title my assignment ‘ _Witch Hunts in the Fourteenth Century Were Completely Pointless: A Discourse on Rewriting History_ ’," He decided.

“I should probably tell you not to…” Lash hedged, then pouted at the sceptical look he gave her. “I do try to be a good influence," She huffed. “But honestly, I’m curious what your teacher will say to that… whoever they are.”

“Whoever they are?” He blinked.

“Well, it’s not going to be Binns, he can’t leave Hogwarts.”

“That’s true. Hey, what do you reckon is the best material for storing energy up?” He asked, idly.

“Probably deuterium," she replied. “But things you can get access to, coal or graphite are probably your best bet. On the metaphysical side of things, you’re looking at wand core materials or crystals… haematite perhaps. Why?”

“Just thinking about things," he replied. “Alright. Witch burnings. Let's get this done with," He put quill to paper and buried the answer to his question deep behind his mental walls, along with a few other choice pieces of theory he’d squirreled out of his guardian on energy storage.

Lash let him. She was rather curious where he was going with it, after all.

* * *

 

It was the last week of August when perhaps the most baffling event of the summer occurred. They were walking back towards the Veela enclave from the cinema in muggle Toulon when Aimée suddenly stopped and gasped, a look of horror slowly crossing her face. Harry looked around, reaching for his wand, initially thinking they were under attack when she suddenly started sniffling.

“Impure…” The veela whispered.

“Uh… Aimée…?” He looked back at her. Lash stirred from where she had been hiding in the back of his mind ‘so as not to interrupt them’, whatever that meant.

“I’m sorry!” Aimée suddenly wailed and hugged him. “We can’t… with you... They would be impure… I have to…” And then she ran off in tears.

“... Lash?” Harry asked, a little helplessly, switching his gaze from his veela friend’s retreating back to her as she manifested with a cocked eyebrow. “You’re a girl, right?”

“No, I am an angel," She replied, amusedly. “We do not have genders as you consider them. That said, yes, my mind is closest to what a human would consider typically female.”

“Right…” Harry nodded, not really listening. “Great, so, uh… what just happened?”

“My dear child, I do believe you just got dumped," Lash told him, voice full of false conciliation.

“But… we weren’t even dating?” He mumbled, shellshocked.

“Bah," Lash sniggered, waving her hand in front of her face. “Details.”  


* * *

“This is the first time I’ve seen you so eager to go back to school.” Amy’s mother was grinning at the sight of her daughter rushing around to get everything ready so she could catch the boat over to the mainland.  


“I’m just looking forward to seeing my friends again," She replied. “You know how much I miss them over the summer. Why can’t we live on the mainland like _normal_ people?”

“You know why, Amy Pelling," her mother told her, sternly, making the teenager pout.

“Old superstitions… I haven’t seen my friends in _weeks_. What if Susie got her claws into Mike while I wasn’t there?”

“This is our family land and we’ll live here until there are no Pellings left.” Her mother folded her arms. “That’s the speech I got when I married your father, and that’s the speech you’ll give your husband when you actually get up the courage to talk to the boy.”

“Ugh, mum. I’m fifteen, we’re not getting _married_.” Amy rolled her eyes and slung her rucksack over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later," She stood on tiptoes to kiss her mother on the cheek and ran out to clip the lights on her bike.

“And don’t forget to practice your English!” her mother called after her in that language.  


The sun was just starting to crest the horizon as Amy pedalled towards the harbour to catch the boat over to the mainland.


	5. Eleven O'clock to Penychain

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling. The Dresden Files are property of Jim Butcher. Original story concept and books 1 and 2 belong to Silently Watches. For the events of those books, see his story A Deal with a Devil available on fanfiction.net at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11188292/1/Deal-with-a-Devil

* * *

### Chapter 5: Eleven O’clock to Penychain

The first of September was always chaotic, and this year was no different, although there was a nervous kind of energy underpinning the whole event that had been absent in previous years. Harry had initially put it down to the change in destination, although the presence of a few brown-coated wizards around the edges of the platform changed his mind on that.

“Aurors guarding the platform? Something is up," Lash agreed. “I’m sure Susan will know something, look," She pointed out where Susan Bones and Sally-Anne Perks were getting onto the train with the assistance of a woman who could only be Susan’s aunt. With an absent nod of agreement, Harry took his trolley in that direction. He briefly got the feeling that Lash was amused at something again as the woman helped him move his trunk into the racks.

“Harry. It’s good to see you again," Susan greeted him with a thankfully brief hug. “I just wanted to say thank you for looking out for Sally-Anne over the summer…” She flushed. “It’s more than we deserved after last year," Her voice turned a little more guarded as her eyes slid to his left. “And hello, Miss Davis. I didn’t know you were friends with Harry.”

“I’m not.” A female voice with an oddly familiar sarcastic twist replied as Harry turned to look. There, behind him, was one of the Slytherin girls from his year, a brunette girl who had done absolutely nothing to stand out other than sitting next to Malfoy at the welcoming feast. “But since Greengrass decided associating with a mere half-blood would get her put on the Heir’s shit list, I figure the top of the shit list is better than the bottom," She nodded at Harry.

“That’s right, you were that girl who was always doing homework," Harry remembered. “Well... “ He glanced at the Hufflepuffs. “I don’t mind you joining us if they don’t.”

Susan looked like she wanted to object, then she flushed and looked away. “We already made that mistake once. If you’re not going to be all Dark and bitchy, you can sit with us.”

“With that desperate invitation, how could I say no?” The Slytherin snorted. “I’m Tracey. Call me by it. I’m done being ‘that homework girl’.”

“I like her," Lash said. Privately, Harry thought that if Lash and Tracey were ever allowed to conspire, their collective wit could probably cut Albus Dumbledore down to size.

“So,” Harry asked, once they were all sitting and situated and the train was on the move. “What’s with the police presence?”

“Police?” Susan asked. “Oh, you mean the Aurors? It’s because of Sirius Black of course," She paused, then frowned and continued at Harry’s blank look. “You didn’t hear..?”

“I spent most of the summer overseas," He replied. “Only got back to England this morning. Besides, you know I don’t get Wizarding news.”

“This was broadcast on muggle telly as well," Susan said. “Black… he’s the one who betrayed your parents to you-know-who. He escaped from Azkaban over the summer, there’s a huge manhunt going on," She sighed. “Aunty’s really pushing for his recapture," She glanced around and lowered her voice. “The Minister even let the Dementors out to help search for him.”

“Eugh, don’t mention those things…” Tracey shuddered. “They already searched our house…” There was a haunted look in her bespectacled grey eyes. “If I never see another dementor again, it’ll be too soon.”

That put something of a damper on the conversation until Susan asked if Tracey had heard the new Weird Sisters album, which turned into a spirited, if good-natured, argument when the dark-haired girl professed a preference for the witch-fronted Midsummer Knights.

By the time the trolley came around, the group had formed a tentative friendship, although Harry couldn’t quite help but feel a little caught on the outside. More because his companions were all girls than anything else. It was almost a relief when the door opened again a couple of minutes after the trolley had left, although the face that appeared was of uncertain welcome.

“Well, Potter, it seems you’ve managed to find yourself something of a following after all," Draco Malfoy drawled as he looked around. “Or is it more of a harem?”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Susan asked, moving to shield Sally-Anne from view.

“Why,” he began, voice oily, “I just wanted to see if Harry had some time for… mending bridges, after the end of last term.”

“So I helped catch the Heir and now I’m useful?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow in unconscious mimicry of his teacher.

“He’ll think about it," Tracey said, interrupting them.

“This doesn’t concern you, Davis." Malfoy looked down at the half-blood with a sneer. “Aren’t you supposed to be finishing Greengrass’ History of Magic essay right about now?” He made a little shooing motion with his fingers.

“Do we really have to start with this already?” Susan asked, and there was no sign of the excitable first-year who had deafened a carriage when she met _the_ Harry Potter back in first year. “Aren’t you Snakes supposed to encourage ambition?”

“Watch it, Bones. Seems like being a speccy loser is contagious," Malfoy said with a sneer. “It’s only a matter of time before your eyes start to go as well." He glanced dismissively at Sally-Anne, who was shaking slightly behind her, before looking back at Harry. “Don’t go burning your bridges when olive branches are offered. There’s a right kind of ambition and a wrong one." Warning delivered, he left with his book-ends in tow.

The four people left in the carriage looked at each other, slightly shaken in the aftermath of the exchange which had felt violent for all it was mere words. Somehow, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that he hadn’t seen the end of this.

The weather continued to worsen as they headed west, until it was almost completely dark as they passed Aberdyfi, to the point where the lanterns came on up and down the train.

“Some storm,” Harry murmured, watching as the rain started to come down in sheets, completely obscuring the view through the window. It was a shame; the sea was quite pretty. “Hang on…” He frowned as the train started to slow down.

“Maybe we’re already there?” Tracey hazarded.

“No, we should still be a couple of hours off,” Lash said, which Harry duly repeated.

“I checked the route in the station," He lied at the girls’ curious looks.

“Hm…” Susan leaned over Sally-Anne to peer through the window after wiping off some of the condensation. “Ah, I think someone’s coming aboard.”

The lights went out suddenly, sending surprised squeaks and shrieks up and down the train – fortunately for their ears, Susan’s not among them.

“Oh no…” Tracey whispered in the pitch darkness.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked quietly, although he could feel it as well. Cold, beyond that of an autumn rainstorm, sweeping up and down the train. Cold, and with it, fear so thick it was almost palpable. Tracey was quietly repeating some nonsense phrase under her breath that didn’t quite sound like a spell, and before Harry knew it he had an armful of shivering Sally-Anne to contend with.

“Well, it is only natural that she take refuge with her saviour," Lash quipped, although even the angel’s irreverent tone had an underlying tension. Compartment doors started to bang open in sequence. Harry freed one of his hands and focused his will. He had plenty of fear to fuel the spell with.

“ _Arev_ ," He murmured, creating a tiny, uncertain marble of white light. “ _Arev_.” A little more fervently, and the ball grew, “ _Arev!_ ” He cast a third time, and the glow expanded until it lit the whole compartment, although only dimly. Just in time for the door to their compartment to bang open and reveal the spectre that was progressing down the train.

Pausing, as though surprised at the vehemence with which the door had opened, the cloaked figure was so tall its hood brushed the ceiling. Its face was completely in shadow, even with the light in Harry’s hand being below it. When he saw the thing’s hand, he thought that perhaps it was a good thing after all. It looked like a human hand, if a human hand had been lacerated, allowed to scab, and then left to soak in salt water for hours. Decayed and slimy-looking, it was the hand of a drowned torture victim… and then it was gone, withdrawn into the thing’s cloak.

“I tried," Tracey’s whispering was audible in the sudden, oppressive hush.. “I’m a good girl, father, I promise. I did my best. Please," She was curled up on her seat with her hands over her head… the dementor swooped closer to her in a motion so rapid that it almost seemed to be ghosting without crossing the intervening space. It reached out with that scabby hand, and just before it touched her, Tracey pitched over onto her side in a faint.

“H-hey! Leave her alone!” Harry yelled at it. The thing paused, as if it were only just noticing him, and then it was _there_ in front of him with that same unbelievable speed and its aura was so much worse, reaching into him with a long, rattling breath that cause ice to start to grow across his glasses. Sally-Anne stopped shaking suddenly as she joined Tracey in unconsciousness, and he could feel the same darkness encroaching…

“You. Will. Not. Have. Him," Lash was there, suddenly, impossibly between him and the dementor, golden hair glowing with an inner light that filled him with hope and wonder, holding a flaming scourge that gave off far more heat than it should have, the healed-over stumps of _wings_ on her back for the first time since he’d met her, and the dementor actually _paused_ …

“None of them is hiding Sirius Black under their cloaks.” A new voice interrupted them. It belonged to a tired-sounding man wearing a battered brown leather duster, standing in the corridor with a handful of silver fire. In the half-light of the two spells, he appeared almost monochrome. The dementor turned to consider him, before slowly swinging its head back towards Harry and Lash… The man sighed. “ _Expecto Patronum_ ," he muttered tiredly, and a cloud of fog, one clump somehow appearing full of teeth, chased the dementor out the window.

“Th… thank you, sir," Susan managed, her voice shaking slightly.

“That was very impressive," he said as he nodded to Susan to acknowledge her words, although he was speaking to Harry. “A wandless light spell that held up against a dementor.”

“I, um…” Harry swallowed. “Fueled it with fear, sir. There seemed to be quite a lot of it to go around.”

The man seemed to pause at that, before squinting at him. “I see. Mr. Potter, please remember that emotionally charged magic is a legal grey area and refrain from using it wherever possible." He reached into his pocket and retrieved, of all things, a small slab of chocolate. He gave it to Susan, who was closest. “When your friends wake up, share that out. It’s one of the few things that can help fight off dementor influence. Please excuse me, I need to make sure the rest of the train are recovering as well." He closed the door and they could hear him going into the opposite compartment.

“... A legal grey area?” Harry and Lash asked simultaneously, equally as confused.

“Well, of course," Susan said, after a few moments, one hand pressing down over her heart as though to calm it. “Almost all spells that require emotional components are really powerful Dark Arts.” As she was talking, the lights flared back into life and the train started moving again with the familiar thunk of brakes releasing. She tore open the chocolate and popped a piece into her mouth.

“Ah…” Harry nodded, weakly. “Can I have… a bit of that?” he asked. Lash had vanished while Susan was talking, but she’d looked incredibly pale and weak and the glowing hope that has suffused him with her presence had faded rapidly. Whatever she had done had plainly exhausted her.

“Sure," Susan passed him a square, before reluctantly putting it on the seat next to her. “So, what’s with…?” She gestured at where Sally-Anne was still curled up in his arms, head resting on his shoulder.

“I guess it stirred up some really bad memories," he said, and gently moved her to the seat next to Tracey. “For both of them.” He looked at the other Slytherin, wondering just what nightmares she had lived through on her own, before looking back to the redhead. “I know I nearly joined them." He did his best to keep the haunted look off his face, although from the Hufflepuffs’ softening expressions he figured he’d failed somewhat. “Let’s not ask them about it straight after they wake up, ok? There’s no point making them feel worse about it.”

The Badger nodded, and they sat in silence until Tracey stirred a few minute later.

“Are… are they gone…?” Tracey’s voice was weak as she uncurled herself. She glared at the others as though challenging them to make something of her apparent weakness. Susan wordlessly offered her three pieces of the chocolate bar instead, and nodded to where Sally-Anne was still curled up on the seats next to her.

“The new Defence professor sent them off," Harry nodded.

“How d’you know he was the new Defence professor?” Tracey asked, squinting at him, before taking her glasses off to clean them with shaking hands, chocolate untouched in her lap.

“He wasn’t smartly enough dressed to be a ministry official," Harry replied. “Eat the chocolate, trust me, it really does help.”

Tracey stubbornly refused for a few moments, but finally she sighed and nibbled the corner of the strip of chocolate. Sally-Anne woke a few moments later, and for a while the trip was spent in somewhat awkward silence with nobody quite sure what to say. Eventually, Tracey pulled out her Defence book, and as if that were a cue, everyone pulled out something to study. It seemed like a better use of their time than fretting over Dementors.

The train carried on along the coast until it stopped in Penychain. The children were herded off the train and, surprisingly, into the usual carriages, their trunks being moved onto the carriage roofs by the teachers present – far more of them present than usual. Harry took the time to look up and down the line to check on the Thestrals, but they were just as emaciated as usual. Hagrid was waving the new students into the first two carriages. For a moment, Harry thought he saw a blonde figure petting one of the Thestrals, but it was almost impossible to pick them out through the continuing rain.

“Come on, Harry," Susan called him into a carriage. “You’ll catch cold. You too, Trace.”

“... Call me Trace again and I will turn your eyeballs inwards," Tracey grumped, but she climbed in with them anyway, and Harry saw that she was smiling, if only a tiny bit that she hid as soon as they were out of the rain.

The carriages took them overland, and then to everyone’s surprise, over the water as well, crossing Bardsey Sound on an invisible road that took them straight towards the hill at the eastern end of the island. The wheels started to kick up water as the path descended, and as Harry leaned out of the window to see, he was certain that they were going to crash into the side of the hill right up until they passed through it, along with a horrible chill that reminded him powerfully of the Dementors. He thought he saw something flapping like a cloak in the darkness, but for long moments he could barely see anything apart from the carriage itself, and then they were through the barrier and descending towards a pretty stone compound nestled in the pit of a valley that went down as far as the hill they had entered went up. A new-looking Quidditch pitch sat off to the side of the compound near an old wooden hall that looked like some kind of hunting lodge and adjacent to a small copse of trees. The weather in the world above apparently didn’t affect whatever underground realm they had entered, for the late afternoon sun still shone in the shimmering, blue-grey sky above them.

“Ah!” Sally-Anne gasped next to him. She was looking up as well. “Why does the sky not look like the sea?”

“It’s because we’re in the world below," Tracey said, her voice soft. “You’re looking at the water table from beneath. Honestly, what were they thinking?”

“What do you mean?” Susan asked, surprised at not knowing something.

“These used to be goblin lands back before they were integrated into wizarding society. According to my father, it was a Davis that drove them out of wales. I honestly doubt it though.”

“Why would you doubt it?” Harry asked, curiously.

“Do you have _any_ idea how many Davis or Davies families there are in this country?” Tracey snorted. “A good genealogist could connect us to any one of a hundred important historical figures without even trying despite the fact he’s a Muggle. He’s just bitter because nobody else accepts his theories on blood purity.”

Much as Harry wanted to ask about that, there was suddenly no time as the carriages pulled up outside the courtyard and the upper-year students were directed into a long, low hall. Unlike at Hogwarts, the wooden beams supporting the pointed ceiling were barely five feet above the students’ heads, and the grey stone walls were unclad and decorated only with plaques, some of which held swords, shields or spears while others showcased wands or musical instruments. The four long tables were there, however, and at the head of the hall the teachers were beginning to file into place. A large harp that practically shone with magic stood in the far corner, apparently playing itself.

“Well,” a dry voice beside him startled him, and he realised that while his friends had taken their places at the Hufflepuff table, he still had a Tracey-shaped shadow. “Is it just me, or do the teachers look rather frazzled?”

“How do you keep doing that?” he asked instead, sulking a little at her continued ability to make him jump even though it was perfectly reasonable for her to be there.

“I’ll teach you if you teach me how you made that fear-light on the train," she replied.

“Deal," he whispered, and then they were clapping politely to welcome the first new Slytherin to their table.

Tracey even managed to make the school song sound sarcastic.

“Before we can continue on to the feast,” Dumbledore said, once the Weasley twins had finished their annual dirge, joined this year by a few people from every house and with far more sincerity than usual, “I have a few announcements to make. While for many of you, Hogwarts castle is a place of great joy, we understand that many of you remain affected by the tragic events at the end of last year. To that end, the redoubtable Madam Pomphrey is joined this year by Healer Tonks, who will be available to provide counselling sessions to anyone who believes they may benefit from them. Such sessions will be mandatory for all second and third year students, and will be noted on your time tables. In addition, I would like to invite you to bid a very warm welcome to three new members of staff. Firstly, Professor Lupin will be teaching Defence against the Dark Arts this year. Though it has earned him little fame, Professor Lupin has been working tirelessly as a dark creature hunter for the last ten years, and has much wisdom to share." He paused while the school clapped for the likeable, if shabby, man who had helped them recover from the Dementors’ inspection. “Secondly, while I know that many of you will dearly regret not being taught by Professor Binns this year, he is sadly confined to the castle. Please give Professor Jones a warm welcome. She will also be taking over as astronomy teacher.”

Professor Jones was a pink-cheeked young woman with a luxurious mane of thick, black hair who looked like she was only a few years out of Hogwarts herself. She was wearing a rather flattering black robe that was tucked in tightly by a wide, front-lacing belt around her belly. She was also well received, although the loudest applause came from some of the upper-year Gryffindor boys for reasons Harry couldn’t quite fathom but amused Lash greatly.

Healer Tonks, sitting next to her, was a patrician-nosed beauty with kind eyes. Her light brown hair was tied back in a short tail at the nape of her neck and she wore the red robes of a healer. Even to the table, although without the white apron or cap Pomphrey favoured.

“And lastly, but by no means least, please welcome back Professor Hagrid, who will be taking over from Professor Kettleburn as our Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Professor Kettleburn has asked me to pass on his thanks – and his cautions – as he retires to spend more time with his remaining limbs." Dumbledore indicated the giant form at the end of the table, who smiled broadly as the students responded wildly to the announcement. Once again the Gryffindors led the charge, although they were followed closely in enthusiasm by the Hufflepuffs. Harry restrained himself to the level of the other Slytherins to avoid trouble, although he made sure to catch Hagrid’s eye and give him a genuine smile.

Dumbledore raised his hand for quiet once more, and the students settled down slowly. “There are a few more announcements to make, and I am afraid none of them will be as enjoyable as this. Firstly, the tunnels beneath the compound are absolutely off limits, as are the caves that may or may not lead to Muggle Bardsey. There are strange and monstrous creatures in many of them, and there is a very slender chance of a teacher finding you should you run into trouble while exploring as they seem to form an impressive maze. Secondly, due to the ongoing crisis in the wider world, the valley’s entrances and occasionally grounds will be patrolled by Dementors. This is a measure for your safety, but to ensure that safety, there are several rules that must be followed." He swept his gaze across the hall as though to impress upon them all the importance of his last three words. “Dementors cannot be fooled by tricks or disguises. It is not in their nature to be swayed by excuses or pleading. All students are to ensure that they maintain a thirty yard distance from any dementor they see at all times. You will not cast spells on them. You will not attempt to speak with them. You will not,” and at this point he seemed to be focussing directly on a pair of red-headed Gryffindor twins, “attempt to dose them with potions or bribe them with confectionary." He paused to let the message sink in. “It is up to each and every one of you to ensure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors of Azkaban. If you see a Dementor out of place, report it immediately to the closest teacher or prefect. Thank you.” He leaned forwards with a smile. “With that out of the way, tuck in."

  
  



	6. Endless Forms Most Beautiful

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling. The Dresden Files are property of Jim Butcher. Original story concept and books 1 and 2 belong to Silently Watches. For the events of those books, see his story A Deal with a Devil available on fanfiction.net at <https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11188292/1/Deal-with-a-Devil>

* * *

###  **Endless Forms Most Beautiful**

Albus Dumbledore was in something of a quandary. He had watched Ginevra Weasley’s memories of the fight against Harry Potter, and those of the other first-year girls who had attacked him. For a very long time, he had believed that the power the prophecy spoke of was the protection offered by Harry’s mother’s sacrifice, yet here were several examples of the boy using magic that he himself did not recognize, and there were very few things that Tom Riddle knew that Albus Dumbledore didn’t. Not only were the incantations derived from Armenian – a little-known language from a country with such a small magical population that it did not have its own ministry – but his magic behaved strangely in all kinds of ways.

He had had his concerns when the boy was sorted into Slytherin, especially in light of the discovery that he had a mysterious teacher who went to great lengths to conceal her presence – a sure mark of a dark witch even if the apparent use of the Imperius curse weren’t enough evidence – but those had been mostly laid to rest after the encounter with Quirrel at the end of the boy’s first year. Then he had simply vanished for months at the end of his second, only reappearing to assist Miss Perks under mysterious circumstances and then vanish once more without passing border controls, going so far as to investigate the possibility of transferring to Beauxbatons, according to Dumbledore’s contacts in the French ministry. And now Remus Lupin had reported that the boy was using emotional magic, which he knew was the fastest route to becoming a dark wizard if pursued without proper guidance as the negative emotions that were so much easier to harness became dominant.

Which left the question of who he should ask to provide said guidance. Both Severus and Remus had experience handling their own darker natures, but neither was an ideal choice due to various reasons. Likewise, Rubeus would be too soft on the boy, and Minerva too strict. Perhaps Filius-

No, he realised as his eyes fell upon the three new teachers’ dossiers. He had already made arrangements to see to the students’ mental health. The answer was quite literally staring him in the face.

The presence of the Dementors would only worsen the situation, although perhaps it could be turned into an advantage. If the boy was using emotion to power his magic already, then a demonstration of powerful magic powered by a positive emotion could go one of two ways. Exposing him the to Patronus charm would either drive him to study the volatile art all the more, or it might cement in his mind the importance of creating more happy memories. The best defence against slipping into the Dark, after all, was to ensure that you maintained a core of happiness derived from good friends and good company.

* * *

 

 

The compound, Harry discovered, was much bigger than it appeared. From afar, it looked as any small holding, with a hall, a stable, a barn, and the kitchens. If you followed the corners, though, you found more and more buildings. Some corners led to different buildings depending on the angle you walked down them. Trying to find his transfiguration class led him first through a farrier and then what looked like some kind of torture chamber with all its racks and wires.

“It’s a luthier’s workshop," Lash informed him, amused at his flight of fancy. “The hold is living up to its name as a bardic college, but there is something unsettling about it. Something very fey.”

“Like the summer and winter courts? We haven’t seen anything that directly matches your descriptions though.”

“A question for Professor Lupin, perhaps. Dumbledore did say he was a specialist in creature hunting.”

“That he did.” He trailed off, ducking back against the wall as a patch of cold swept overhead. “How on earth we’re meant to avoid going outside when we’ve got to learn a whole new external campus to learn I do not know. Those Dementors are awful.”

“I’m not exactly enamored of them myself. We must do more research when we get the chance," Lash said with a slight air of frustration. “They’re like Skavis but somehow _worse_.”

“Ah, I recognise that cat," Harry noted as he saw a silver tabby jump down from the roof of what he _thought_ was probably the charms classroom. He blinked a moment later as the cat’s fur flowed and shifted, expanding until Professor McGonagall stood there instead.

“Interesting. A true shapeshift. And an answer to how she gets around so easily," Lash murmured, thoughtfully.

“Why didn’t my anklet work?” Harry asked, softly so that the teacher wouldn’t notice as she went into her classroom.

“Because, Harry, it only allows you to see through lies," Lash murmured. “Perhaps you should ask her about it after class. For now, we are about to be late.”

Transfiguration proved to be interesting indeed, as McGonagall launched straight into the very explanation Harry had been hoping for. After their horrendous first impressions, they had never seen quite eye to eye and the respect he’d won at the end of last year felt too raw to test now by asking for a pass to the restricted section. He did make a note to owl Madam Pince directly however.

After a quick lunch, he checked his timetable and saw that the only class remaining for the day was Care of Magical Creatures, for which they were apparently supposed to meet just outside something called ‘the lodge’. Lash helpfully projected their incomplete map of the compound where he could see it, and a moment later he headed off to find a way to the long cabin set a few hundred meters outside the main wall.

Behind the lodge – a single-story wooden affair with a peaked roof, chimney, and many hooks apparently _grown_ out of the outside wall – was a series of stalls and kennels, although most of them were currently empty. Behind that rose a low copse, lush with undergrowth.

Seeing as there was no sign of Hagrid or any Dementors, Harry decided to explore the copse a bit, already having a suspicion of what he might find there. True enough, the thestrals swiftly made their presence known once he was a few metres into the trees, the one he had been looking after last year already nosing for the pears he’d slipped in his pocket in the hall.

“Manners,” he admonished her with a chuckle, gently pushing her snout away to retrieve one of them himself and give it to her.

“That is a very fat thestral.” A high, airy voice commented from behind him, startling both him and Lash. He looked back, only to see a blonde girl with large, silver eyes, a little younger than him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump," the girl added, drifting past him to pet his thestral’s snout.

“That’s, uh, quite alright," Harry replied, getting his equilibrium back as he noted that the girl was being respectful at least. He took a moment to look at the thestral – properly _look_ at her – and realised that from a certain point of view, the girl might be right. Unlike the rest of the herd, this one looked merely underfed. “It’s nice to meet you, miss…?”

“Lovegood," she replied, not looking at him. The thestral was far more interesting. “You can call me Luna. Or whatever, really. Names are things other people give you. Did you know that some people think thestrals are the souls of the dead, come back to watch over their loved ones?”

“I hadn’t heard that, no," He shook his head, moving up to rub the thestral’s bony flank gently. “Most people apparently find them rather intimidating.”

“They are rather scary looking," Luna agreed. “But they’re nice. And having scary looking friends is very comforting when there are nightmares from beyond floating around.”

“You mean the Dementors," Harry agreed, looking at her.

“They make me remember why thestrals show themselves to me," Luna admitted. “I would rather have Mummy back, but thestrals are nice too. What’s her name? Your thestral.”

“Well, she’s not really _mine_ , she’s one of the school herd, but I’ve been calling her Kenzie," Harry said with a slightly sheepish smile. A moment later, the thestrals lifted their heads and started to melt back into the forest. The sound of voices reached Harry and Luna a few moments after that.

“Must be time for my next class," Harry murmured. “I’ll see you around, Luna," he gave her a small smile, before heading back down to the Lodge.

Hagrid was waiting outside the lodge with the rest of the Care class. Harry hadn’t realised Malfoy was going to be here - he hardly seemed the sort to care for anything - but he, Pansy Parkinson and Vincent Crabbe were all loitering at the edge of the group.

They looked rather out of place among the sea of black-and-yellow ties. There were a few Gryffindors in the class as well, but the lone Ravenclaw in the class looked even more alone. She didn’t seem too concerned by the fact though. Harry thought her name was Amanda, or Mandy, or something along those lines.

“Is tha’ everyone?” Hagrid asked. He was wearing his moleskin overcoat and had his boarhound, Fang, at his heel. He was fidgeting slightly, eager to get started. “Great. Got a real excitin’ lesson fer yeh.” He waved for them to follow him, clicking at Fang, and led them around to the kennels behind the lodge. “Yeh’ve all got yeh textbooks?”

“Theoretically.” Malfoy drawled, pulling his book out of his bag. It had an elegant silver-and-green tie wrapped around it, knotted tightly against the cover.

Harry blinked at it, and pulled his own textbook out to examine it. It was lying quiescent as it had since he’d told it off in the bookshop. Looking around, almost everyone had bound their books shut with belts, ties, or in Weasley’s case spellotape.

Tracey Davis and the Ravenclaw – Mandy Brocklehurst, Lash provided – were the only other students who had managed to get their books under control without resorting to binding them.

“Right, well, open ‘em up teh page thirty,” Hagrid started, only to be interrupted by Weasley.

“How?” he asked.

“Eh?” said Hagrid.

“It bit me. How do we stop them attacking us?” Weasley demanded to know. “Honestly, Hagrid, you’re great, but this wasn’t your best plan.”

“Oh, er.” Hagrid floundered for a moment. “Yeh’ve got ter stroke ‘em.” He explained, taking Weasley’s book and running a finger down its spine before ripping the tape off. The book fell open obediently to the right page.

“Oh, how silly we’ve all been!” Malfoy sneered. “We should have _stroked_ them. Why didn’t we guess?”

“Leave off, Malfoy.” Harry sighed. “I figured it out.”

“I figured it was an entrance exam to the class.” Brocklehurst smirked. “If you seriously can’t figure out how to calm an irritable book, you’re clearly not ready to learn Care of Magical Creatures.”

Tracey smirked at Harry, although she was careful not to let the other Slytherins see.

“Right,” Hagrid muttered. He looked back up a moment later. “Yeh’ve got yer books… now yeh just need yer Magical Creatures…” He turned away from the class to go and open one of the stalls, gently leading a strange creature out in front of the group. It had the body, hind legs and tail of a small horse, but the front legs, wings and head of what seemed to be a giant eagle, with a cruel, steel-coloured beak and large, brilliantly orange eyes. The talons on its front legs were half a foot long and deadly-looking. It had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain by which Hagrid was leading it towards them.

The sight of him startled even Malfoy into silence.

“Hippogriff,” Lash murmured. “The child of a griffin and a mare.” She sounded oddly wistful. “A powerful symbol of love, for those creatures are mortal enemies.”

“Meet Buckbeak!” Hagrid grinned at them. “E’s a hippogriff. In’t ‘e beau’iful?”

He really was. His gleaming grey coat changed smoothly from feather to hair, and as though he knew he was being admired he spread his wings and lifted his head proudly, showing off the row of black feathers that ran across the middle of each wing. They matched the strip that ran from under his beak down beneath his barrel, making a cross shape when he reared onto his hind legs with his wings wide.

He fell back to all fours a moment later, turning his head to keep the whole class in sight of his forward-focused eyes.

“So,” said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together. “If yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer…”

Most of the class seemed hesitant, although Brocklehurst and Weasley edged towards the front of the group. Harry joined them a moment later, admiring Buckbeak with his face turned slightly aside so as not to challenge him.

“Now, yeh want ter make eye contact. It’s polite, see,” Hagrid explained. “Then yeh bow without lowering yer eyes or blinkin’ too much. ‘E won’ trust yeh if yeh blink too much.”

Harry hid his wince and met the creature’s eyes directly. It went against all of his instincts to do so, but if this was how to handle hippogriffs, Hagrid would know better than he. He bowed as deep as he could without breaking eye contact.

“Good, now wait a mo’, an’ if ‘e bows back, yeh can approach an’ touch ‘im,” said Hagrid. “If ‘e don’t, back off sharpish ‘cause those talons hurt.”

But the hippogriff was already bowing back, dipping his front legs. Harry smiled proudly and approached the last few steps, reaching up to stroke the hippogriff’s neck feathers gently. Buckbeak nosed him curiously, then sneezed on his hair eliciting a laugh from the rest of the class.

“Eugh, thanks for that.” Harry wiped his face on his sleeve and patted the hippogriff’s beak.

“Alrigh’,” Hagrid came forward. “We don’ have the space fer you to go flyin’ sadly, so back away an’ give Mandy a turn. Everyone else form a line. Remember, hippogriffs are proud an’ smart. They know when yeh don’ respect ‘em.”

Harry backed away and let the Ravenclaw move in. She and Tracey both greeted the hippogriff successfully, but when Malfoy approached next he started to fidget suspiciously.

“Now, be careful there,” Hagrid warned him. Malfoy bowed to the hippogriff, standing far closer than the other students had. Buckbeak stared him down.

“Well?” Malfoy demanded with a sneer. “Aren’t you going to bow?”. The arrogant superiority was dripping off him even more obnoxiously than usual.

“Back away.” Hagrid warned softly. “Sharpish now.”

Malfoy ignored him, straightening up and reaching towards the hippogriff as if to force him down. It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream and fell back. Hagrid moved in rapidly, collaring the hippogriff and wrestling him back into his stall while Malfoy lay on the ground, curled up around his arm as blood stained the grass and his robes.

“Damn it,” Harry muttered, bending over Malfoy. “Here, hold it shut,” he told him, adjusting the boy’s grip on his arm so he was putting pressure on it properly. He got an arm under his shoulder and looked around for the bookends. Goyle wasn’t in this class, and Crabbe was looked like he was about to faint at the sight of all the blood.

“Harry, can yeh get him ter th’firmary?” Hagrid asked, his face almost as pale as Crabbe’s.

“I’m dying!” Malfoy yelled, terrified. “I’m dying, look at me! It’s killed me!”

“Right away,” Harry nodded. “Parkinson, give me a hand here.”

“Me?” She blinked, startled. “R-right!” To her credit, the pug-faced girl moved forward to support Malfoy’s other side. Harry led the way to the infirmary, Parkinson opening the doors for them.

“Oh dear,” Madam Pomfrey muttered, looking him over. “Hop up on the bed there,” she ordered. Harry lowered Malfoy to sit down before stepping out the way.

“That is rather a nasty little cut,” Pomphrey tutted. Harry peered at it incredulously, then looked away and covered his mouth as he realised that through the reds of blood and muscle he could see even the white of bone. From the way Malfoy’s fingers were twisted and flopping, the nerves might be damaged as well. Harry was not a doctor, but just looking at it he could not help but worry that Malfoy might very well lose the use of that hand.

It was his own stupid fault for being an arrogant twit, but even so it was horrifying.

“Madam Pomphrey does not seem too concerned,” Lash noted, appearing next to the nurse to examine the cut herself, “although normally I would suspect that you would be correct in thinking that the damage is critical. It is certainly beyond normal means to repair.”

“ _Concresenda_ ,” Pomphrey muttered, waving her wand over the wound, and the blood stopped flowing out of the wound as though an invisible barrier were holding it back. “ _Tergeo_ ,” she held her wand on the wound and syphoned about two tablespoons of already-pooled blood out of the wound and dumped it into an empty phial that floated over from a rack on the wall at a wave of her free hand. A second, larger phial joined it full of brown oil. Madam Pomprey had the top unscrew itself and poured two drops of the brown flour into the phial of blood, recapped the large jar and sent it back to the shelf.

She mixed the blood and the brown potion together, then applied them gently to the sides of the wound and pressed the edges together.

“ _Ferula_ ,” Pomphrey cast, binding the wound shut with conjured bandages. “There you go. You’ll be right as rain by dinner. Don’t take the bandages off until you go to bed, just in case.”

“Wait. That’s it?” Harry asked, wide-eyed. “Just a bit of potion and a pat on the back?”

“Of course,” Madam Pomphrey gave him a strange look. “Oh, of course. I keep forgetting that you’re Muggle-raised. Essence of dittany can heal almost any wound when applied properly. Mr. Malfoy will be perfectly fine and should regain full use of his hand in a few hours. Run along now, I’m sure you have better things to do than loiter in here.”

Malfoy and Parkinson left without another word, although they already had their heads together to formulate some kind of scheme.

“Can I help you, Mr. Potter?” Madam Pomphrey asked when he didn’t move.

“I was wondering actually,” Harry said, hesitantly, “if you had any books on healing magic I could have a look at…”

“I have a few reference tomes,” she said. “But they are rather advanced and not really suitable for young eyes. There should be a copy of Gerard’s _Herball_ in the library. It’s a good starting place.”

“Thank you,” Harry nodded. “I’ll look into it.”.


	7. Boggarts and Bilinears

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling. The Dresden Files are property of Jim Butcher. Original story concept and books 1 and 2 belong to Silently Watches. For the events of those books, see his story A Deal with a Devil available on fanfiction.net at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11188292/1/Deal-with-a-Devil

* * *

### Chapter 7: Boggarts and Bilinears

Despite Pomphrey’s words, Malfoy didn’t turn up to dinner or breakfast, choosing to swagger into Potions halfway through the lesson the next morning like the wounded hero of some heroic battle.  He was wearing a new splint on his arm and immediately went to sit down next to Parkinson, who began simpering over his wound as though she hadn’t been there when Pomphrey told him he’d be absolutely fine. Harry decided they were probably up to something that he wanted no part of and turned back to his shrinking solution.

“The differences between the _Herball_ in my original world and this one are interesting,” Lash said. She was reading her memory of it while he worked. “His references to how to mix magic with the medicine are so subtle it’s not surprising they escaped the Statute of Secrecy.”

He nodded, subtly, but he was mostly concentrating. The potions they had to brew this year were becoming more and more difficult, and while he could manage them thanks to all the experience he had cooking breakfast and dinner for the Dursleys back when he was younger, it took focus if he did not want to draw Snape’s ire. Thankfully, even if he was a little distracted, he knew he did not make as tempting a target as—

“Orange, Longbottom,” said Snape on the other side of the room, ladling some up and allowing it to splash back into the cauldron so that everyone could see. “Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn’t you hear—”

Harry tuned the professor out as he continued to upbraid the Gryffindor so he could focus on the final steps of his own potion. He cleared his workspace while the acid green potion simmered then bottled it up for evaluation.

“Everyone gather round,” said Snape as the class began to finish up. “And watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”

Harry noted with some disgust that the majority of the Slytherins in the classroom were waiting with baited breath for the show, while the Gryffindors looked considerably worried. Nobody had any faith in Longbottom’s ability to correctly brew the complicated potion.

Snape picked up the toad in his left hand, and dipped a small spoon into Longbottom’s potion. He trickled a few drops down the toad’s throat.

There was a moment of hushed silence, in which the toad gulped, then Trevor croaked, shuddering, and began to shrink. And shrink. And _shrink_ , until he vanished entirely.

Longbottom let out a wrenching sob and fled the room.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for leaving a class early,” Snape drawled, and dusted his hands off. “The rest of you may leave,” he added as he vanished Longbottom’s potion and started collecting the potion samples.

* * *

Professor Lupin wasn’t there when they arrived for Defence against the Dark Arts class after lunch. They were somewhat surprised to find the Gryffindors waiting there as well. They usually shared Defence with the Hufflepuffs.

The two houses watched each other warily from opposite sides of the room until Lupin came into the room at a jog and laid his battered briefcase on the teacher’s desk. He was as shabby as ever, but he at least looked healthier than he had on the train, and his brown coat had been washed so that the lighter areas where auror’s patches had once been attached were visible. It still fit as poorly as ever, suggesting that the coat hadn’t originally been his.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Today we’re lucky enough to have a chance for a practical lesson, so please take your wands and follow me. You can come back for your books at the end of the class.”

The students looked at each other warily, then followed him out. Harry kept his magic pouch on his hip but otherwise left his bookbag with the others, taking just his holly wand in hand as they followed Lupin to the staff room. The last time they’d had a practical Defence class was when Lockhart had brought a pixie in and set it loose, so the class were understandably concerned.

The staff room was obviously a repurposed mess hall, with a hatch at the far end leading onto a small kitchen. Professor Snape was sitting near the fire with a cup of tea, going over a potions journal. He glanced up, irritably, then stood with a sigh.

“Leave the door open, Lupin. I’ve had about enough of watching Longbottom flail around for one day,” He said, heading for the door. Longbottom cowered out of the way, face crumpling at the callous reminder, although he managed to avoid crying again.

“Actually, I was thinking Neville could help me with the first stage of the class,” Lupin replied, smirking. “I am sure he will perform admirably.”

Snape snorted, closing the staff room door behind him and sealing the class in.

“Right,” said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class down to an old wardrobe in the far corner. As Lupin went to stand next to it, it gave a sudden wobble and banged off the wall.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin calmly as a few people jumped backwards in alarm, Malfoy clutching at his splinted arm. “There’s a boggart in there.”

Most of the students seemed to feel that this was, in fact, something to worry about. Longbottom gave the Professor a look of pure terror and started shaking his head.

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” said Professor Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gasp beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks. I once met one that had lodged itself inside a grandfather clock. This one was here when we arrived, and I asked the Headmaster if I could keep it for teaching. So, who can tell me; what is a boggart?”

“It- it’s a shape-shifter, sir.” Lavender brown stammered. “It takes the form of whatever will scare you most.”

“In the future, please raise your hand. Lavender, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded.

“Lavender is, essentially, correct. However, she missed one small detail. The boggart is a psychic predator. It takes the form of what it _believes_ will scare us the most by reading our surface thoughts. This means that it can be fooled, and it gives us another advantage. Would anyone like to guess what that might be?”

Daphne Greengrass raised her hand, eager to show up the Gryffindor.

“Yes? Daphne, wasn’t it?” Lupin asked.

“Yes, sir, Daphne Greengrass,” the pureblood said, primly. “Because there’s a whole crowd of us, and half of us are too stupid to get scared of things, it won’t know what to turn into, right?”

The Slytherins sniggered at the not-so-subtle dig at Gryffindor bravery, especially given that Longbottom looked like he was about to faint.

“Something like that,” Professor Lupin gave her an admonishing look. “Now, I mentioned that boggarts are predators. They consume fear. Laughter and amusement, on the other hand, are anathema to them; think of it like offering a small child Spinach instead of cake. It can be pretty difficult to call up laughter in the face of a boggart, so there’s a useful little charm to trick the boggart into turning into what you’re thinking of, instead of what you’re scared of.” He gestured with his wand, showing them the motion. “The incantation is _Riddikulus_.”

“A creature akin to a phobophage is one thing,” Lash murmured, “but a charm that can force it to change into something amusing is another thing entirely. Your world’s magic never ceases to amaze me, Harry.”

Harry smiled a little as he practised the charm, hearing the magic slosh slightly as it flowed. His mind wouldn’t stop turning to consider what the boggart might turn into, however.

“Now, Neville, what would you say scares you most of all?” Professor Lupin asked.

“Professor Snape.” Longbottom whispered. After that morning, nobody laughed, not even Parkinson or Greengrass. Professor Lupin looked thoughtful.

“Professor Snape… hmmm… Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?”

“Er - yes,” said Neville, nervously. “But I don’t want it to turn into her, either.”

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said Professor Lupin, now smiling. Maybe it was Harry’s imagination, but he felt like there was something a little nasty in that smile. Like someone planning a mean-spirited prank. “I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?”

“Well,” Neville looked startled. “Always the same hat, a tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress… green, normally… and sometimes a fox-fur scarf.”

“And a handbag?” Prompted Professor Lupin. Harry was getting a sinking feeling about where this was going.

“He cannot intend to humiliate his colleague in front of his entire House,” Lash said, pleading.

“A big red one,” said Longbottom.

“Right then,” said Professor Lupin. “I want you to picture those clothes, very clearly, and concentrate on them while you cast the _Riddikulus_ charm. Alright?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Longbottom replied, facing the wardrobe with his wand in his hand. He raised it as Lupin edged the rest of the class back to give the boggart a clear shot at him. The latch holding the wardrobe shut clicked open, and Professor Snape walked out of the wardrobe in a cloud of creeping mist.

“ _Riddikulus_!” Longbottom cast, and sure enough there was Snape in a green dress with a vulture hat, holding a giant red handbag over one shoulder. The class started sniggering, even the Slytherins, as Snape scowled.

“Interesting tattoo,” Lash murmured, highlighting the mark on Snape’s forearm where it was bared by the dress. A snake crawling out of a skull’s mouth.

The boggart stumbled at the laughter.

“Parvati, forward!” Professor Lupin ordered, gesturing for Longbottom to back away. The honey-skinned Gryffindor girl stepped forward with a resolute expression and _Crack!_ , the boggart turned into a bandage-wrapped mummy crawling with scarabs.

“ _Riddikulus,_ ” Patil called out, and the mummy tripped over its own bandages.

“Draco!”

Malfoy stepped forward, wand held in his ‘good’ hand. _Crack!_ The boggart turned into his father, Lucius, who said he regretted ever adopting a mudblood before his wizengamot robes turned into a tea towel, then - _Crack!_ \- it became a towering banshee who lost her voice, before - _Crack!_ \- it was a giant spider.

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” Ron Weasley roared and the spider’s legs popped off and it started rolling towards Harry, who had hung towards the back of the class with Tracey quite deliberately. It rolled to a stop at her feet and suddenly grew into the form of a brown-haired man with alcohol-tinged cheeks wearing a pressed black suit. He raised the ten inch ash wand in his hand.

“Impe-” he began to incant when Professor Lupin stepped forward.

“That is quite enough for now,” Professor Lupin declared lazily, banishing the boggart into his briefcase with a flick of his wand and locking it. “He’ll keep in there until the Ravenclaws’ class,” he told them with a wink. “I imagine I’ll see more than a few burning books in that one.”

His comment earned another round of chuckles. This was, Harry thought, the most camaraderie that he’d ever seen between the two rival houses. Even so, he couldn’t help but be grateful that he had been allowed to avoid facing the boggart. He had a suspicion it would turn into a flickering horror-movie monster in a human suit.

“Professor Lupin, can I have a word?” he called after the Professor, hurrying out after him.

“You should go back to the classroom for your book bag, Harry,” Lupin advised him. “You’ll be late for your next class otherwise.”

“I know, sir, thank you. I just wanted to warn you,” He hesitated. “I mean… you didn’t let me face the boggart for a reason, right? And you interrupted Tracey’s.”

“Yes,” Lupin admitted. “I was rather concerned it would turn into Voldemort, and Tracey’s fear is not something the other students should be confronted with at your age.”

“One of the Hufflepuff girls has seen some… pretty horrific things,” Harry told him carefully. “It might provoke similar risks if you let that thing see what Sally-Anne’s afraid of.”

“I will bear that in mind,” Lupin nodded. “Thank you.”

* * *

“So this is where you’ve been hiding." Harry smiled at Sally-Anne when he found her in the library after lunch on Friday. “How have your studies been coming?”

She smiled and pulled her wand out of her sleeve to show him. “I- I wanted to show you on the train, but Sue said- said that I should keep what happened quiet. I had to talk to Mr Ollivander for a long time before- before he could make me a new wand, because the binding kept interfering.”

Harry and Lash bent to examine the wand. Much like Harry’s it had a cleverly disguised silver ring fitted just above the grip.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anything unusual apart from our modifications,” Lash said, going over the delicate rod. Harry echoed her aloud for Sally’s benefit.

“No, that’s… Um, we found a different way," She pulled back her sleeve to show them a silver band clamped tightly around her arm over the binding. It was decorated with a pattern of ivy and roses that almost managed to make it look like a piece of jewellery, although the lack of a clasp or hinge made it look more like a slave cuff. “The actual ogham script is on the inside.”

“It’s very pretty,” Harry told her as he and Lash examined it. “It’s enchanted to grow with you? How does it work?”

“Yes,” Sally nodded when they were done. “It’s… the binding is a bit- bit like a pipe. The script has to be complete for it to function or the magic going through- through it just leaks out chaotically. So… so the cuff finishes the ogham script, but, well, ah… in-inverted," She took her wand in hand and lit it in demonstration. “I- I think I’m actually a bit- bit more powerful than I was with my old wand. This one is larchwood and phoenix feather.”

“So the Ollivander agreed with Lash?” Harry asked, unable to suppress his grin. “How did you get him to leave the attunement spell off?”

“I, um, didn’t. He taught it to me, because… w-well, the script on my arm would still interfere with the normal way of doing it. So I’m supposed to cast it every night before bed to do it the slow way," Sally blushed slightly, looking down. “He wasn’t… very happy about it, and he made-made me promise never to teach anyone else unless… unless I became a wandmaker and took- took an apprentice. But I like your method better.”

“It looks like she’s applied the ring correctly as well. An excellent effort all round, apprentice," Lash put in. “And you can tell her I said that.”

“Lash says you did good," Harry repeated. “How’s Divination?”

“Uninspiring," Sally-Anne admitted. “I’m thinking of switching to runes after all. It’s- it’s pretty obvious by now that divination isn’t going to forewarn me in any useful manner.”

“Is the teacher no good?” Harry asked, wondering if he should reconsider his plan to speak to Trelawny about his potential oneiromancy.

“It’s… not exactly..? But she _isn’t_ quite all there. And… hon-honestly it’s depressing. She’s teaching us to see bad omens in everything. I’m going to give her second class a go in case it was just to get people to pay attention, but…”

“It’s not exactly going to help with your meds," Harry nodded in understanding. “Runes, though?” He made a face.

“I…I was thinking about what Ollivander said," She admitted. “About being a wandmaker. And… the idea of making things… when- when I was at your workshop over the summer, I really enjoyed making my shield rod, too. I know we have…” she glanced around, “the angelic script, but… having other languages to work in might help too. Bes-besides, nobody will hire a crafter who doesn’t have an OWL in ancient runes.”

“She has a point," Lash agreed. “Mortals are inordinately obsessed with making sure people have the right paperwork, rather than the right skills, to be qualified for a job.”

“Lash agrees with you, again," Harry smiled a bit. “Mind if we study a bit? We’ve got Arithmancy in a half hour anyway, we could walk there together.”

He wasn’t sure why that made Sally-Anne blush, but it definitely amused Lash that it had. Although, perhaps, not as much his confusion did.

“S-sure," Sally-Anne agreed. “I’d like that. How was, um… your week?”

Harry groaned as he sat next to her, head in his hands. “Hagrid brought in Hippogriffs, and of course Malfoy was an idiot and got himself slashed up. I had to take him up to the hospital wing. And, ugh. I can’t believe how… _cavalier_ they are about injuries here!” He kept his voice down carefully, aware that he was ranting a little. “Anywhere else and he’s have lost the use of that hand for good. He’s been milking it for all its worth, and the worst part? I think he was using the whole thing as some kind of test to see if I’d stick my neck out for Buckbeak," He rubbed at his forehead. “Then in potions yesterday, Snape fed one of the Gryffindor’s familiars some of the potion he’d made and the thing _died._ Then after that the new Defence professor threw a Boggart at us!” His eyes sought hers as he said, plaintively. “Sally-Anne, I think the entire wizarding world might actually be _completely insane_.”

“Well…” Sally-Anne swallowed. “If it’s any consolation, as soon as you have an OWL certification, you can just leave it forever if you want. And they won’t snap your wand or steal your memories." She glanced at her bangle, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze. “M-madam Bones explained it to me over the summer.”

“Alright," He nodded, thoughtfully. “That is definitely something to keep in mind. On the subject, I think the old luthier’s workshop might be perfect for continuing our lessons. I was thinking after Monday that maybe we could try working on becoming animagi? It would be nice to have a fallback if we lose all of our foci.”

“That… that sounds like a very good idea," Sally-Anne agreed in a whisper. “Although I’ll probably end up turning into a mouse or something.”

“Sounds useful for escaping. Mice are excellent climbers. They’re also very family oriented," Lash pointed out. Harry pointedly ignored her waggling eyebrows.

They spent a pleasant twenty minutes researching animagi and arranging an extracurricular study timetable before meeting up with Tracey outside the Arithmancy classroom. The wry brunette pushed her glasses up her nose to regard their ink-stained fingertips with a raised eyebrow, before shaking her head.

“You two are the swottiest lovebirds ever," she told them, making Sally-Anne squeak. “Come on, let's get in there.”

The classroom was surprisingly bare, the walls masked by the multiple blackboards on wheels arranged around the edges. Some of them held equations, others were blank. Professor Vector was waiting by the desk at the front of the room with her arms folded inside the sleeves of her robe. A tall, middle-aged woman with a waist-length scraggle of black hair held back in a tail, she wore a knowledgeable smirk that went quite against her strict reputation.

“Good afternoon," She greeted them once the room was three-quarters full. “I am Professor Vector. Four of your classmates have already dropped this class. Two more will leave before the end of this lesson because they are intelligent enough to realise that the subject is beyond them. One of them will transfer to Divination where they will excel. A third will struggle with the material and drive themselves into the ground attempting to catch up and will eventually ask me what they are missing. At which point, their fortunes will turn around and they will invent a new theorem before graduating with top marks and going on to pursue mastery. Are there any questions before we begin?”

There was a moment of complete silence, before one of the two Gryffindor boys in the room hesitantly raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Longbottom?” Vector acknowledged him.

“How do you know, Professor? Are you a seer?” He asked, tremulously.

“No, I am not.” Vector’s smirk widened slightly. “I am an arithmancer. Arithmancy has, on occasion, been described as the key to spell creation, an exploration of the nature of the universe, and a form of divination. It is, in fact, _all_ of these things," She gestured to one of the boards. It was covered in dense chalk script that was almost illegibly small. “That board shows the arithmantic formula for your class’s grade average over the last two years. By looking at it, I can derive many answers about your scholastic habits." She paused to let it sink in. “ _For example!_ ” she snapped, suddenly, making them all jump. “Miss Davis’s results from first year taken individually prove that she is an able student, skilled in all subjects, but particularly skilled at History of Magic. _However_. When compared to Miss Greengrass’s results, an interesting parity shows. Miss Davis. You will not _control_ your scores for this class. Do I make myself clear?”

“... Crystal, professor," Tracey replied, carefully not looking at the seething blonde two seats to her right. Last year, she would have been terrified of the fact that a professor had just broken the bond of patronage between Daphne and herself into fragments, but having already made the decision to rise on her own merits rather than begging her aunt to take her back it almost felt like the professor was _supporting_ that decision.

“Excellent.” Vector clapped her hands, breaking the spell of words she had cast over the class and smiling. “Now that we have established a baseline expectation, turn your books to page one." She looked to Neville. “That’s after page xiv, dear,” she added.

* * *

Amy giggled into her hand as Mike Davies fumbled his bowl, sending the ball into the gutter with a clatter. He huffed at her and pouted, boyishly, which only increased his charm.

“You’re such a muppet," she told him with a grin, catching his fingers as she traded places with him to grab her ball and line up her bowl while the machines reset.

“See you do better, birthday girl," he replied with a smirk, giving her fingers a little squeeze before plopping down in her seat. Day two of dating her crush was _definitely_ the best day of her life.


End file.
